


talk

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21532684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Regret was something he wasn't familiar with.(Alternatively, Rakta's slow realization.)





	talk

“I had a dream,” Rakta said, one night. Laying in Sakaguchi’s arms as the other breathed softly against his hair, each exhale caressing the wild strands of his bedhead. “I got everything I wanted.”

Sakaguchi didn’t know what that entails, of course, didn’t know that Rakta would gladly kill himself to bring that woman back. Didn’t know the reason behind why his blood had poison, why it tasted bad - bitter and foul. He waited for a moment, and Sakaguchi nudged the top of his head with his nose; I’m hearing, a gentle nudge to continue and providing comfort when he most needed it. Rakta tilted his head up, pressing his forehead to where Sakaguchi’s lips would be. Even if comfort was given, he would still seek more out.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Sakaguchi asked, voice low and soothing but it was almost everything Rakta needed. He sighed softly, a small laughter escaping from in-between his lips as easy as water through his fingers. Things were always easy, around Sakaguchi, he never had to force anything. Never had to prove anything, to himself or to Sakaguchi.

“I guess,” said Rakta, the words carried easily. “It was warm.” And it was, the tears that dropped on his face, the dreamlike shine and glimmer to it. In his dream, his mom came back exactly like she was. Strong, radiant like the warmth of a summer sun. She would cry, of course, instead of happily thanking Rakta. It didn’t feel like a dream, but he woke up from it all the same.

“Then it’s nothing to worry about.” Sakaguchi said, so understanding – accepting to the point that it made Rakta wanted to take his heart out and point out all the things that Sakaguchi did to him. He settled for pressing in even closer, the steady thump-thump of Sakaguchi’s heart right in his ear. It didn’t race like it used to when Rakta would pull him down to his bed, to cuddle and sleep until the day’s gone by, but he liked it better like this.

He thought to fall asleep, follow Sakaguchi to the land of unconsciousness, without regrets and with some sense of satisfaction though he would never know how true satisfaction felt like until he accomplished his goal. But Rakta stayed awake, as Sakaguchi’s heart mellowed out to a slower rhythm, in tandem with the inhale and exhale of his breath.

He realized, right here, on his bed, in Sakaguchi’s arms, that he might wanted this more than his goal. Had Sakaguchi got too much into his head? Had the prospect of reward that his goal would produce suddenly seemed so stagnant compared to being in Sakaguchi’s arms, compared to being with someone who had right by his back the moment they met – even if it was only bound by duty and promises and deals?

And how was it so sudden, how the poison in his blood felt more present than anything, how dangerous his goal felt? Death was something he had been accepting long time ago, death was something he _expected_ once he got to that part of his goal, so why did his chest feel tight to the point that it hurts? Shouldn’t being in Sakaguchi’s arms chased all the bad things away? The World Eater was so strong, he even chased out the bad dreams and all the bad things that plagued Rakta’s mind, made him sleep sounder than ever so _why_ …

Rakta muffled his sob, and fell asleep because he exhausted himself by crying and trying to keep it quiet. He didn’t know why. It was a miracle he didn’t wake Sakaguchi up.

(That was the first time Rakta felt regret, one so strong that even he didn’t know what it was.)

-

They were in a building.

Few floors up, in a balcony where they could see every bit of the city. The night wasn’t cold enough to seep through his turtleneck, but it was cold enough to have made the tips of his fingers felt chilly. Rakta stood, leaning to the balcony right at Sakaguchi’s side, both of them with a glass of something sweet and alcoholic in their hands. None of them had took a single sip of it.

“I’ve been having dreams lately,” said Rakta, “felt more like a prophecy than anything.”

He could see Sakaguchi turning his head in a way that whatever Rakta was saying got him curious, and he heard the light clink of the glass as Sakaguchi set them down on the floor somewhere. He saw how his hand moved, saw more of how his blood vessels moved, to prop his chin on the railing. “What was it?”

“I died,” said Rakta, the tip of his index finger circling the rim of the glass, “but it was always without regret.”

“They were nightmares,” said Sakaguchi – so sure of himself, “don’t worry about them.”

But it wasn’t nightmares, Rakta had wanted to say. But he settled for setting his glass aside and getting closer to Sakaguchi, draping himself all over the other man in a weird position that would surely get uncomfortable in a few minutes. Sakaguchi had always ran hot, warm to the touch and the chill in Rakta’s fingertips melted away when he put his hand on Sakaguchi’s back, like how all of the bad things melted away just as easily when Sakaguchi was there.

“As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.” Sakaguchi said, and Rakta had so many things he wanted to say but incapable to – like how Sakaguchi was his absolute. He knew saying anything would just unravel things, even if he wasn’t sure what it was he would be unravelling, he wasn’t even sure if he would be unravelling anything but he wouldn’t – couldn’t risk it.

They stayed like that for a while, until Sakaguchi told him that he wanted to go home.

(That was one of the countless times he would feel those tiny regrets, one you always inevitably feel in your life.)

-

This time, Sakaguchi cried in his dream.

That was how he knew that was a dream. It felt real, _too_ real, that it made him woke up with a sob halfway on its way in his throat. Made guilty well up in his chest, made him turn to his side to see if Sakaguchi was there but his side of the bed was empty (and since when has it been Sakaguchi’s side of the bed? Since when his bed had become their bed?) and that explained the dream.

Sakaguchi never cried, he wasn’t sure if the man couldn’t. He probably wouldn’t be a pretty crier. But Rakta reached out and settled his hand on top of the empty sheets, and something close to tears were welling up again.

Then he heard the toilet flush.

He inhaled sharply, and took his hand back. He pressed it close to his chest, fisted up and acted as a cage for his unsteady, weak heart. Rakta waited until the footsteps were close enough, waited some more until Sakaguchi settled back onto his side of the bed and startled a little (cute) when he saw that Rakta’s eyes were wide open.

“Did I wake you up?” Sakaguchi asked as he laid his head on top of the pillow. Rakta reached out to feel Sakaguchi’s face, brushing his fingers over the scars, the nose, the lids under his eyes and the hair that fell on his face. Sakaguchi always had his hair down when he slept.

“Have you ever regretted something to the point that it physically hurt?” Rakta asked, instead of answering. He was a light-sleeper anyway, Sakaguchi had woken him up countless of times.

“I have, yeah,” Sakaguchi said. He shifted closer, brushed his knuckles to Rakta’s cheekbone and then pushed the hair on Rakta’s face aside. He felt vulnerable, in the face of Sakaguchi’s merciless affection and sincerity. This was the man who used to lie to him everyday.

“What’s wrong, doll? I’m here to help.”

Then Rakta cried.

“I don’t know how you do it,” and Rakta heard his own voice wobble. Sakaguchi’s surprise was clear in the air, speechless. Instead, he put his hand on Rakta’s cheek, and the other held the hand that was fisted close to his chest. Sakaguchi didn’t brush the stream of tears away, no, he let Rakta cry. He let Rakta express his grief and regret and he let Rakta show the ugliest part of himself without so much of a comment.

And Rakta told him how ever since Sakaguchi stepped into his life, he forgot how his time was ticking faster than everyone else’s. How the poison in his blood would eventually kill him, if not the attempt to resurrect someone who ever mattered to him. Rakta told him, face wet with tears and regret lacing his cracked voice, how he might have found something better that was almost worth to stop chasing his goal, how he was going to leave Sakaguchi faster than he wanted.

Sakaguchi was a man who wanted to live more than anything, and maybe that rubbed off on Rakta a little – how he wanted to live a little longer.

“If I knew it all then,” Rakta sobbed, “would I do it all again? If you were there, would I have been so hellbent?”

Sakaguchi didn’t say anything, but he did held Rakta again, as he always had. Pressed a kiss to Rakta’s sweaty forehead, slicked his hair back from his face, and that was enough. That was more than enough for Rakta. They’ll deal with this when morning came, or maybe they’ll deal with this days after, maybe they’ll never deal with this – but all that mattered was this.

He fell asleep to Sakaguchi saying, “as long as I’m here, no one can hurt you. Not even yourself.”

**Author's Note:**

> sigh


End file.
